


Red Dhalia

by ismellsarcasm



Series: Quick prompts [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 17:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ismellsarcasm/pseuds/ismellsarcasm
Summary: Miss Scur is a very odd woman, with a very odd past





	Red Dhalia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
So, this is my first work in Ao3 and I'm pretty happy :D  
I didn´t have any beta readers for this story so any feedback or constructive criticism is also very appreciated.  
Enjoy!

Miss Scur was a very odd woman. Everyone said so and everyone agreed, but everyone also loved her.

She had moved into their little town in the middle of nowhere some years back, around a decade ago, and opened her, now beloved, bookshop. She had a confident way of carrying herself warm personality and friendly appearance; people couldn’t help but respect her everywhere she went.

She was also a sharp dresser, always dressing somewhat formally. Her favourites were a black and electric blue suit that made the red her hair glow like fire during the winter or her long pastel green dress she would wear in the summer.

She’d always welcome people warmly and she, almost single-handedly, made children want to read more books just to have an excuse to hang out in Miss Scur’s book shop. She would somehow always have some snack ready and would spoil the children by recommending them some books and then giving it to them for free. Her shop would also have plants at every corner, Forget-me-nots, Red Dahlias, White Lillies and especially Daffodil. The yellow flowers were her absolute favourites and she would always put one on her dining table while she ate. They just make such good company, She would joke.

She was a generous woman, always bringing food and presents to any event.

People would go to her when times were tough and she’d always manage to have an available room in her home, she would even pay a room for them in the local motel. Some worried that the lady was a little too kind for her own good, but so far no one had dared to trick her.

“She has an eye for these things, see.” Explained Arthur to his niece when she visited him. “Can smell your lies the moment you step into town.”

“But she’s just an old lady!” Atlas protested.

“You watch your mouth young lass! She is not a day over 40.” Reproached Sean, the barista in the coffee shop they had been talking in.

The town loved Miss Scur and people would chat with her every day. They all knew her favourite movie and her favourite song. They even knew that her large black dog, whom she named “Cerberus” no less, was just like her, in the sense that it could not harm a single fly. They even knew her not-so-secret recipe of chocolate chip and almond cookies. In return, she also knew almost everything about them. How Mrs. and Mrs. next door to her had been accidentally married before they even met, but ended up falling in love none the less (The judge that had annulled the marriage the first time was more than a little surprised when they showed up back at his doorstep asking him to marry them). She knew that little Tim had been a little weary when they first came into town to live with their dads but had lightened up significantly after they made some friends in the park. She knew that young Fernando was nervous to finally see his long-distance friends that were finally coming next Sunday, and so on; she knew everything about everyone and more.

All and all, the town had become more like a family and all thanks to Miss Scur.

Knowing all this, it might be a surprise that nobody actually knew about Miss Scur’s life or family. They knew she hadn’t been born there and that she had enough money to not only live without worries but also to spend extra con frivolous and generous gestures. Some suspected she had a large inheritance and, in the absence of any other family members or children, she was free to use it all up. Other thought that she might be maintained by some other family member that had enough money to support Miss Scur’s kind heart. No one knows for sure and when an entrepeneuring young lady had once asked her, Miss Scur’s face had turned pale and her eyes lost in a sad memory. She quickly shook her head and smiled, astutely evading the question and moving onto happier topics.

The haunted look in Miss Scur’s face had been enough for the whole town to silently agree to never bring it up again and goodness have mercy on the unlucky soul that wasn’t aware of the silent law of the town and brought the topic up. Steel glares from the whole town would stab through the poor bastard.

Nobody knew where Miss Scur was from and nobody cared enough. She was here now and she was loved now. That was all that mattered.

***

Josephine Scur slid through the dark wet street. She had spent more time in old Shane’s boathouse that she had meant for, but the roasted fish was enough to make her stay for a whole week.

8 or 9 years ago walking around the street during the night would’ve been suicide. Crime had been rampant around the area just a decade ago. People claimed that as soon as Josephine arrived in the town crime had vanished, as if she had been an angel, blessing the town. Josephine always chuckled at the idea but smiled politely nonetheless.

It wasn’t long until she noticed a dark figure following her. She hadn’t seen them per se, but it was almost like a sixth sense she had. She knew someone was there. She knew they were following her. And she knew they were some old acquaintance. Still, she kept strolling by with not a care in the world until she reached her quaint bookshop and she directed her wheelchair towards an alley right beside it, which led to the back door.

Right on cue she heard someone cock their gun and point it right behind her head.

“Long time no see, Miss Dearil.” said her stalker “Or is it Miss Scur now?”

Josephine felt no fear, if anything she was annoyed at the interruption of her peaceful night.

She sighed. “Ah. I was wondering when you’d come visit me.”

“Don’t pretend you knew I was coming.” said the stalker as they pushed their gun to Josephine’s head, their tone dripping with bitterness. “You don’t even know who I am.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Claire.” Right after the words came out the gun behind her loosed just a bit before being shoved back with the time of recklessness only a cornered person would use.

“Lucky guess.”

“Another mistake.” said Josephine holing one finger up. “I have heard loads about you.” Josephine smiled fondly as she remembered everything she had found out about this paid assassin. “I know you have a great aim, some are calling you ‘Robin Hood’s ghost’, a little extravagant for my tastes, but I am not involved in that whole mess anymore.” Josephine slowly turned her wheelchair to face the person threatening her. “Move that thing from my face, please. We both know you are not going to pull that trigger.”

“You don’t know that.” Claire shot a bullet right beside Josephine’s head, grazing her glasses and, quite rudely, shoving them out of place.

At least she had the decency of using a can to avoid making noise, she’d be damned if she disturbed lovely Jorge’s beauty sleep.

“Then why not shoot me with that exact same suppressor at the top of that roof with your ol’ reliable sniper rifle?” said Josephine with earnest curiosity while pointing at the roof of the Harper’s boutique in front of her bookshop, the perfect spot for an assassin like Claire.

Something akin to genuine surprise crossed Claire’s face as she stared defiantly at Josephine’s dark brown eyes, before they were replaced by a cold mask of indifference.

Claire shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to meet the legendary Josephine Dearil, Red Death Incarnate and Red Dahlia in person before her death; you were quite the talk back in the days.” A wicked smile was painted on Claire’s face, one only a reckless youth would have before doing something especially stupid. “That is… before you daughter died. Pissed off the wrong people, did you?”

And with those words Robin Hood’s ghost’s fate was quickly sealed. The somewhat warm expression Josephine had carried through the whole conversation turned into a cold, empty smile and a disgusted stare.

Time stilled around them and a deadly silence fell upon the two figures in that small, dark alley; a chill went down Claire’s back as the wind howled behind them, she could almost swear she was hearing the ghosts of all the missing criminals that had been in this town before Miss Dearil arrived, they were begging her to run away. For the first time in all her career as an assassin, she felt vulnerable.

Claire glanced around where Josephine was sitting, expecting her to do something. She wouldn’t let her do the first move would she? She had the upper hand, Josephine would clearly wait for an opening to attack.

“Stop trembling dear, it’s not that cold.” Josephine’s monotone voice came like a thunder in the silence.

Claire inhaled sharply, trying to get her nerves in order, when she noticed her grip on the gun was falling and her hand had the faintest hint of a tremble. Almost subconsciously, she followed the order and reaffirmed her grip on the gun. Even though she knew she was no longer trembling, Claire couldn’t help but glance at her damn hand as she desperately tried to keep a semblance of composure.

“Well, are you going to shoot?” impatience ran through Miss Dearil’s tone, almost as if she had something very important to do after.

Claire internally chastised herself for letting herself look so cornered. Her mind had suddenly started listing of the many unsolved murders Miss Dearil had in her pocket; from simple missing people to the disfigured corpses of an entire mafia gang who had not had enough money to out pay their competition for the assassin.

She quickly shook her head, dissipating all those thoughts. The woman in front of her was not The Red Dahlia anymore. Hell, she couldn’t even stand up on her own anymore.

She was trying to get into her head.

If she just pulled the damn trigger she could be done with it.

She’d tell her boss that the recruitment went wrong.

She could just run with the first payment she had been given.

But she knew that no that she was on Miss Dreadil’s bad side, it was only a matter of time until someone found her corpse.

FUCKING CHRIST, this was why the pay was so fucking high! She thought She’s just an old woman, fucking shoot her!

Perfectly timed with Claire putting the lightest pressure on the trigger a black monstrosity jumped over Claire’s back, pinning her to the ground and throwing her gun into the air. A gigantic paw was set on top of her head and the weight of the monster was making her have a hard time breathing.

At this point, Claire was almost certain the devil lady had somehow caught her gun, she tried to glance at Josephine under the growls of her dog and managed to see her silhouette fishing something out of her wool jacket’s pocket.

“Now, dear, hold this.” Said Josephine, placing something in her hand.

A Red Dahlia.

***

“Morning Miss Scur!” smiled Jorge as he picked up his morning newspaper. “You need help with that?”

Josephine was, at the moment, carrying a large bag of garbage as Cerberus helpfully carried other two on his back, wagging his tail at his owner.

“It’s alright, dear, I was just cleaning the mess a visitor made yesterday.”

“You had someone over?”

“Oh no, just a lost tourist; but I couldn’t just let her go in the middle of the night, you know? She must have arrived at her grandmother’s house by now.”

Jorge just chuckled; of course Miss Scur would stay up all night to help a complete stranger.

“How about I bring you some breakfast, I made some extra anyway. You must be tired and I bet Cerberus would appreciate some bacon I have.”

Cerberus cheerfully barked back.

“That’d be wonderful, my dear, I will be with you in just a second.”

Jorge hummed as he prepared another plate in his table for Josephine, even putting a small Daffodil on the table, not even stopped to think about how the hell had he not noticed a car or a lost stranger in a town as quiet as his own. This sort of stuff sometimes happened, especially around Josephine, but nobody really minded. After all, Miss Scur had always been an odd woman.

**Author's Note:**

> Some shameless self-promo here at the end haha  
I have a drawing of this story if anyone is interested in seeing it:  
https://i-smell-art.tumblr.com/post/186667080346/red-dhalia-hey-so-i-decided-to-make-a-short
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Have a good day :D


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